Page 18 of Beautiful Torment (Empire of Kings #1)

ABELLA

T he sound of my alarm drags me from the clutches of a dream that fades into oblivion almost as soon as I open my eyes.

Only fragments remain, hovering at the edges of my memory.

Dark, velvety eyes.

Tension.

Heat.

Release.

Uncertainty burrows in my chest as I sit up, glancing at the bed in confusion.

I’m sideways across the mattress, tangled up in my bedcovers.

It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had a restless night’s sleep, but that doesn’t account for the fact that my nightgown is askew, and my thighs are sticky and wet.

I sit there for a moment, trying to piece together what I thought was a dream.

My eyes move over the room, looking for visual confirmation that my stalker was here, but I don’t see any.

It isn’t until I’m in the shower washing my body that I notice the hickey on my breast and the fingerprint bruises on my thighs.

“Holy…” My words die a slow death as I rub my fingers over the marks, noting the absence of pain.

That’s when the memory comes flooding back.

His face was between my thighs. His mouth was on me…tongue inside me. And as a parting gift, he left his brand all over me.

But it wasn’t just that. It was the familiar edge of wrath in those biting words and harsh commands. I know I didn’t imagine it this time.

It had to be Angelo.

“Oh my god.” I press my palm against the shower wall, trying to get my bearings.

When I close my eyes, I can still feel the way his fingers wrapped around my throat. Did he come here to kill me and…this happened instead?

My stomach somersaults as I consider that to be the most likely scenario. If he were any other man in the Cosa Nostra , I’d already be dead. You don’t humiliate a member of the family and live to tell the tale. I always knew it was a possibility when he came back. I just thought I had more time.

My legs feel like rubber as I step out of the shower, my mind working overtime to recall every detail of last night. I piece together as much as I can as I ready myself for work.

The undeniable proof is on my body—someone was here. But was it really him, or am I losing my mind?

I can’t forget how unaffected he was yesterday. He could barely withhold his disdain for me. Natalia told me he’s engaged, and I know him to be a man of honor. He might be brutal and full of quiet rage, but when he gives his word to someone, he doesn’t falter. So why would he be here?

The visceral memory of him shoving his cum inside me sends a jolt of panic through me.

“Jesus,” I whisper. Did he really do that?

The alarm on my phone goes off, signaling I have thirty minutes to get to the boat so I can make the appointment with my client on time. I latch onto the distraction, pushing my thoughts of whatever the hell happened last night aside as I finish my hair and makeup.

When I’m presentable, I grab my phone and briefcase and take the stairs quietly, hoping to miss my father. But when I notice his office is empty, I pause on the last stair. He must be out today.

I wait there for a moment, listening for the presence of anyone else in the house, and there’s nothing but silence.

Matteo’s observation about my father’s list of alternative marriage prospects has been bothering me, and I haven’t had a chance to check.

At this point, I’m not certain it even matters, but I still want to see it for myself.

I need to know what he has planned for me if, by some miracle, this wedding doesn’t go forward.

Before I can think through the consequences, I find myself at my father’s desk, rummaging through his files.

Sure enough, in a folder labeled with my name, I find the list Matteo was referring to.

At the top, Angelo’s name has been crossed out and replaced with his brother’s, and beside it is the hastily written sum of one million dollars.

My stomach drops as I stand there like an idiot, staring at that figure as if it should come as a surprise.

In that moment, I can’t decide what’s worse.

The fact that Matteo left that part of the equation out, or that he was right about the other men.

The list my father has compiled includes offers from at least ten others, and Carlo Pagnotto is second with his offer of $750,000.

The man is a certifiable psychopath, and my father still let him make an offer for me.

As I glance over the rest of the prospects, another terrifying realization settles over me.

Six of the men on this list are the same names I’ve heard repeatedly over the past few months.

In whispered conversations, details of their murders rippled through the Society.

The brutality. The shock. The name carved into their chests.

Il Diavolo.

Was he eliminating my options…or the competition?

“What do you think you’re doing?” The snarling voice in the doorway makes my head snap up, and my eyes collide with the venomous gaze of my father.

A tremor moves through me as I release a hollow breath.

“You sold me for a million dollars?”

He rounds the desk and snatches the paper from my hand, shaking his head in disgust. “You’re as dimwitted as your mother was. You know that?”

“Would you really sell me to Carlo Pagnotto like a piece of livestock?” I grit out.

“If you weren’t already bought and paid for, then yes, I would,” he sneers. “Fortunately for you, the Vitale family made a better offer.”

“You’re vile.” I blurt the words before I can stop myself. There isn’t time to brace for impact before my father backhands me so violently that it knocks me into the wall, and I crumple onto the floor.

“Watch your fucking mouth,” he seethes. “You’ve already made a mockery of this family once. You’re lucky you didn’t find yourself at the bottom of the cliff next to your mother.”

“Is that an admission of guilt?” I choke out.

“The next time you make an accusation like that, be prepared to bet your life on it,” he spits. “Your mother was weak, and throwing herself off that cliff was the only courageous thing she ever did.”

Tears prick my eyes as I rise to my feet and swallow my hatred, staring down my father’s callous face. He was always cruel, but I didn’t grasp the full extent of it until she died two years ago.

The first time he hit me was a shock, but now he doesn’t hesitate. It only pains me that my mother never told us the reason for the bruises she often bore. She explained them away as the effects of her various maladies, shielding us from the truth. Now, it’s undeniable.

“I’ve had about enough of you,” my father mutters. “You’re an embarrassment to this family, and you should be grateful I didn’t have to pay someone to take you as a wife.”

“I don’t want to marry Matteo,” I tell him. “Or anyone else on that list.”

His eyes flash, and I take a step back.

“It’s done.” His face mottles with red as he points a shaky finger at me.

“You will marry Matteo, and you’ll suck his goddamned dick every day if that’s what he fucking decrees.

This is the end of the road for you, Abella.

There won’t be a third chance. So, if you know what’s good for you, do what he tells you and keep him happy.

You can start now by offering your condolences. ”

“Condolences?” I frown.

He spares me a disinterested glance as he settles into his chair and starts shuffling through his papers. “Silvio is dead.”

“That’s an awfully big hat,” Nicky remarks.

“Uh huh.” I occupy myself by staring at my phone as I take a seat on the golf cart, grateful that the mark on my face isn’t visible to him from my position in the passenger seat.

He drives us to the dock, and I go over the questionnaire for the client I’m meeting today. Hoping for some privacy, I opt for the forward lounge when we board the catamaran, but Nicky doesn’t take my cue and sits directly across from me.

“Is that really necessary?” I ask him.

“Yep.” He takes out a stick of gum and tosses it into his mouth as his eyes narrow on my face.

A beat of silence passes as he stares at me, and I try to play it casual.

“Are you gonna tell me what that’s about?” He nods toward the welt on my cheek.

“Hmm?” I return my attention to my phone.

Another awkward pause ensues, and I try to focus on what I’m reading, but I can’t. I’m worried he’ll tell Angelo about this, which he all but confirms when he holds up his phone and snaps a picture of me.

“What are you doing?” I glare at him.

“Boss will want to know about this.” He starts typing out a message.

I snatch the phone from his hands and stand up. So does he.

“Your boss already knows,” I blurt. “Or didn’t he tell you about his visit last night?”

I regret the words the moment I say them, but desperation has me in a chokehold. I need validation that I’m not crazy, and I didn’t imagine it. More importantly, I can’t have this getting back to Angelo.

Nicky scrapes a hand over his jaw. “He didn’t mention it.”

I can’t tell if he’s being honest or not. He probably wouldn’t tell me even if he knew Angelo was there. But regardless, I can’t let him send that picture.

“Well, then, do me a favor and don’t bring it up again,” I say. “I shouldn’t be required to disclose the intimate details of my life to every man in the Cosa Nostra .”

A muscle in his jaw tics as he gives me a stiff nod. When I return his phone, he deletes the message, and I exhale a shallow breath. But as we sit in silence, guilt settles over me.

Angelo has been through enough without me adding to the misconceptions about his character.

But then again, his hatred for me is palpable.

I can’t forget the look in his eyes as he dismissed me so easily yesterday, as if we were never anything more than casual acquaintances.

He made it clear he’s moved on. And, considering the timing, none of it makes sense.

Why would he come to me the same night he learned that his father had passed away?

“How is he?” I ask the question before I can think better of it.

Nicky scrutinizes me. “How do you think?”